The Hunt
by ellatheunicorn
Summary: The Hunger Games may be over but, across the ocean in the remains of Europe, there's a different game to play. And this one is even more brutal.


**A/N So. I felt like this needed an extended explanation because it's not** ** _really_** **a Hunger Games. It's enough like one to be posted here I think but y'know... I'll tell you where this all came from. It's actually based on a dream I had a while ago and when I woke up I was really impressed with my subconscious and I decided to make it into a story. Unfortunately for moi, I'm not creative enough to come up with a really new story idea and my dream was so like a twisted Hunger Games I felt like I would have to give Suzanne Collins credit for something. Which leads me to here. I thought I could really milk the parts that were similar to the book, use basically the same sequence of events but just change the country, the government and the game. Just to clarify because I think I'm probably confusing people, this is a story about a really nasty televised game thing where people are taken from their homes and forced to compete. There is only one survivor of said game. The rules of said game are explained in the story but it's basically the Hunger Games on some very strange drugs. I hope that de-confuses everyone.**

 **Also, I'd just like to point out that so far I have five chapters written out including this one and I'm going to post once a week I think sooooooo I hope that's okay. And (last thing, don't worry) I don't have a beta because I donut know how that works (first story ayy) so feel free to tell me about my mistakes because really I'm a grammar Nazi and I have a reputation to uphold ;-) THAT'S IT WITH THIS LONG ASS AUTHOR'S NOTE! WOOP!**

Chapter 1

I know something is different as soon as I open my eyes. Normally I would wake swathed in darkness and creep with the workers to the early Market, but today the familiar, uniform sound of heavy boots never came. Watery sunlight filters through my filthy window, throwing a mottled square of light over my bed and causing me to squint. I gaze in confusion around my room, wondering what could have caused me to break my religiously followed routine and my eyes land on my clothes rack where a smooth blouse hangs in the place of the usual tatty flannel shirt. Of course, there is no market today. Today is the Choosing.

I am allowed to know three things about my world:

1\. There are seven cities.

2\. City Seven is in charge.

3\. When a Choosing is called, City Seven will take three people from each city.

I am not allowed to know where they are taken or why, no one is, but one thing is certain: they will not come back. Thankfully, the Choosings do not happen often, twice a year at most, usually less. They are announced a week or so before they are held and woe betide you if you don't turn up.

I douse myself in cold water from the bucket I collected last night and dress quickly in my best clothes. People tend to dress up on Choosing days, maybe for luck, maybe out of pride... I just follow everyone else and try not to be noticed. I frown as I survey my reflection in the spotted mirror hanging on my wall. Every garment I wear was stolen from the Market and, as it is particularly difficult to steal things of worth like clothes, I do not look as polished as I should. My only skirt has become a bit worse for wear in the three years I have had it. It barely reaches the middle of my thighs and black threads hang like spiders from the hem. My ruffled blouse is fairly new but in the rush of a steal I grabbed one several sizes too big and it hangs loosely off my underfed frame. Deepening my scowl, I attempt to tame my short, ginger hair and stick my feet into my battered boots before slipping silently outside.

Most of the city is now emerging from doorways and heading through the shadowy streets to the Central Square. Here on the City's east side at least, I have no worries about standing out. These people are in a similar situation to me, with money anyway. Some of them make up the stream of factory workers that trudge past my room every morning, some of them tend to the fields where I (along with every other teenager) am required to help out during harvest and of course, many of them are thieves and pickpockets. Although everyone has clearly made an effort coats are still patched, hair unruly and boots caked with dust. The area itself is much like the people; dingy, narrow streets bordered by walls of smoke streaked concrete that tower over us like industrial giants as we scurry down below in the dim light.

If my life had been a little different, I may have lived on the other side of the City, among the upper class of models, businessmen, actors and Enforcers and treated the Choosing just like another party. When I was younger, I desperately wanted to be a famous musician but I have no hope of clawing my way up there now. I haven't spoken a word since my mother's execution when I was ten years old.

She was an escort who filled our house nightly with rich strangers, sometimes even officials from City Seven, who didn't take kindly to a little girl interrupting them. I was an accident that she didn't find out about until it was much too late to do anything, the result of an occupational hazard my mother had failed to remember one night. As a result I spent a lot of my childhood hidden in the brush surrounding the fields that border my city, staring into the looming forest that I was too scared to enter until much later. Sometimes I used to fantasize about running away altogether to live with the wood fairies I was convinced roamed around the forest and leaving my pathetic life behind. But, obviously, despite all this, I did love my mother. She was all I had, being the unfriendly, timid little girl I still am, and she couldn't have had a lot of choice after all. Her 'business' had previously been undiscovered, or ignored I suppose, but a new First Enforcer was inevitably appointed and that First Enforcer inevitably found out about us. They came in the night and by the next morning she was sentenced to death for her 'illegal activities'. My scream as a gunshot echoed around the Central Square was the last sound I made and I've never been treated quite the same since...

The suffocating crowds on Choosing days only add to my hatred of Square is large enough to fit all 10,000 citizens but only just and it is heaving with people. The noise is almost deafening as I shove my way to the designated are for those of 13-19 years old. I am seventeen so I join the middle of the gaggle of teenagers and am immediately swallowed up by my classmates. Jemima Hart, the tailors daughter, throws me a dirty look as I push past her and I cross my arms guiltily over my chest, hiding the shirt I stole from her father.

As I expected, I am ignored. My silence hasn't earned me any friends and I can understand why; getting to know me would be near impossible and I prefer to be left alone anyway. Well, that and the unfortunate fact that I've stolen from almost all of them at some point. Instead of joining in with the nervous buzz of Choosing Day conversation, I turn my attention to the middle of the square. A huge wooden stage is placed there for public events like announcements from City Seven, performances during the annual Unity Feast and occasionally executions. It is a stage I know all too well. Today it is home to an enormous contraption with four screens facing each side of the square to give everyone a clear view. At the moment they are filled with static but the stern face of the Minister of City Seven will soon appear to announce the names of the three who will be taken to face an unknown fate.

I am never sure whether to be scared or not. Everyone supposedly has an equal chance of being chosen so City Six's endless residents should mean the likelihood of it being me should be minuscule. However, many of the Chosen tend to be 'troublemakers' in the eyes of the officials and many people, me included, have long suspected that the process is not as random as we may think. My thieving leaves me classed as someone who City Seven might see as worth getting rid of. I consider myself a good enough burglar but that doesn't mean I haven't been caught - my multiple warnings have left me with a far from clean record and, at the thought of it, a knot builds up in my stomach leaving me with a tight feeling in my chest.

A line of Enforcers mount the stage with synchronized steps, startling me out of my speculations. In unison they each raise their right arm and fire a single shot into the air, signalling that the Choosing has begun. A few stragglers hurry to their sections as the huge screens flicker to life and the smooth, expressionless face of City Seven's minister, Ebiere LaCroix appears. I know at this point, another team of Enforcers will be checking the City for anyone who dared to be late. They caught me and my mother once when I was much younger and it took a 'favour' to the one in charge to keep her from spending some time in the City Jail.

The Minister stares down at us with sweeping black eyes and her features arrange themselves into a composed smile. "Greetings, people of City Six. It is with immense pleasure that I welcome you to the Choosing." Her voice is low and warped by the speakers into something strangely robotic. "Among you today are three people who's lives will be changed by City Seven and I know you wait in great anticipation to find out who these people may be. As your generous leader, I am happy to grant your wishes."

There is a smattering of applause as three Enforcers appear on screen, each holding a thick envelope embossed with the golden symbol of City Seven. The clapping hands quieten as she takes the first envelope and slits it open with a small gilded knife. The knot in my stomach tightens and my heart feels as though it will break out of my chest. As the card is removed I have to close my eyes in fear.

"Caspar Tames." the metallic voice announces.

I open my eyes and let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. A young man emerges from the section to the right of mine and an Enforcer marches him roughly to the stage where he stands staring straight ahead. Strangely, he doesn't seem at all worried but maybe he is hiding his fear behind this indifferent demeanour. The sun glints off his golden hair.

On the screen above him the Minister is presented with the second envelope. I press my lips together so hard that I know the colour must have drained from them. I am fixated on the golden knife.

"Acey Miller."

Me.

It can't be me. The echo of my name resonates through my skull like the tolling of a huge bell. I stand stunned, looking wildly around, desperately hoping for another Acey Miller to reveal herself but there is no one. The crowd parts in front of me and I have no choice but to follow the path they have created. I can feel a thousand eyes on me as I reach the stage. An Enforcer grips me, fingers digging into my arm and I am dragged up to stand next to Caspar. It occurs to me that this must be close to the spot where my mother spent her final moments and I cannot stop terrified tears from filling my eyes. I wish I could see through the unforgiving, grey buildings to the fields that have always been my sanctuary. I am burned my the stares that bore into me and the whispers that creep up like snakes to wrap around me and smother me. This can't really be happening.

I am dimly aware of a woman of about thirty being pushed up onto the stage beside me but I can't remember her name. Below us the rest of the city applaud and I know from experience that it is more out of relief than anything else. They have been saved for the time being, their families have been saved and they begin to drift away, already forgetting the faces of the three of us standing on the stage. We have been Chosen. We will face an unknown fate and they will never see us again.

 **A/N I have read through this chapter so many times I basically know it off by heart and... I don't know... It's not my favourite... BUT ANYWAY. I think it gets better. PLZ REVIEW BECAUSE I AM THIRSTY FOR LOVE (or hate, I don't mind). If you liked it, I will see you next week yay. If you didn't, oops sorry. ADIOS!**


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